All of Him
by Fail with Eloquence
Summary: She decides, her eyes peering at the beach over his shoulder, that maybe Norway isn't so bad after all. Set immediately after the events of the finale. 10.5/Rose. Journey's End spoilers.


Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own it. If I did, that full shot of the kiss wouldn't have just been an exclusive in the Confidential.

Spoilers: Journey's End.

A/N: I wanted it to be longer, sorry. Takes place on the beach immediately after the Doctor leaves.

Hope you like it.

And reviews are forever loved, remember. :)

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"Blimey."

She has to laugh because, as far back as she can remember, he didn't say that all too often in his new body.

"Are you okay?" He asks, serious now, looking at her, his eyes squiting against the wind and his hand gripping onto hers as if he'd lose her if she let go.

They both know that he just might.

"Yeh," she replies, the honest nature of the word sticking in her chest like guilt. She _is _okay. Tears haven't been shed since the TARDIS dematerialized before her just moments before. It doesn't feel like her last trip to Norway. Her heart isn't racing with the adrenaline of grief like it was and she's surprisingly calm.

She steals a glance at her mum, chatting on the phone, out of the way. She's out of hearing range and most likely talking to Pete, who still hasn't recognized as 'dad' in Rose's mind and she wonders if the Doctor will still roll off of her tongue as easily as before.

She knows that she'll never call him John Smith, that's for sure.

Moving her eyes from Jackie, she looks up at him, her hair whipping around her head and tickling his neck. The same brown eyes, the same great hair. Her thumb runs over his hand a few times, feeling the familiar lines on her skin. She can still see all of time behind his eyes. She can still see fear.

But she knows it's there now for new reasons.

She slips her hand from his and wraps her arms around his neck, molding into him when she feels his arms snake around her waist. "You're still the same?" She's surprised when it comes out as a choked sob and turns her face into the crook of his neck.

He even smells the same.

She knows the answer before the words leave his mouth.

"Yes."

She doesn't say anything and he speaks again, uncertainty washing over him. "Is that alright?"

Her quick reply of "yes" causes another laugh to escape her lips. Hidden memories are fighting their way to the surface of her mind and she remembers a similar conversation that took place with her old _old_ Doctor. Her heart swells and she's vaguely aware that her mother is calling after them, her voice carrying over the beautiful wasteland that she's standing in again.

She decides, her eyes peering at the beach over his shoulder, that maybe Norway isn't so bad after all.

"Your dad's coming for us," he whispers to her, and she pulls back a little, feeling the reluctance to let go flow through him. Her eyes catch his and her teeth are holding onto her bottom lip.

He's terrified. Angry, even. Angry at himself. Coward over killer. Apparently. Maybe. Not.

She realizes she doesn't care how many Daleks he killed. She feels like she should but she doesn't. Genocide doesn't describe him. She knows him.

He's the same man she met years ago and he's the same man who had lost her. He is her first Doctor, and he is her second Doctor.

He is neither one or the other. He is all of him.

She clasps her hands behind his neck and lets her breath tickle his upper lip before she captures his mouth again. The words are on the tip of her tongue and she wants to shout them to the world and never let him out of her sight as she feels his arms embrace her again. He's tracing a hand over her back, five pressure points leaving trails of fire on the skin beneath her jacket as his other arm holds her by the waist. He's leaning into her and returning the gesture as though his life depended on it.

They both know that it just might.

When he breaks the barrier three days later in her flat back in England, she finally says it as he washes over her. She whispers it into his ear; a broken record as he holds onto her and places tender kisses on her neck. Words leading to a life with children and mortgages and a ginger cat with a bell attached to it's collar. The bills are on the counter and the kettle's going and his sock-clad feet are sliding over the linoleum on the kitchen floor.

And she loves all of him.


End file.
